


darling so it goes

by powerandpathos



Series: 19 Days After-Shots [6]
Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 09:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powerandpathos/pseuds/powerandpathos
Summary: An 'after-shot' of Chapter 196. TianShan in the first half of the chapter; XiYi in the second half.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is a mild altercation in the form of a head cuff at the beginning of the chapter.  
> 'SAR' is a military acronym for 'search and rescue'.  
> Fic title is from Elvis Presley's _Can't Help Falling in Love_ , which can be watched [here](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FvGJTaP6anOU%3Flist%3DRDvGJTaP6anOU&t=MjJmZjkwZjhlNmJkYTQ3ZjhjN2M3ZWIzNzYxNGMwYTlhYzBjNTgyOCw1OTl3SG5Lbg%3D%3D&b=t%3AjJea3L-GQY6gTMS4LcZBVw&p=http%3A%2F%2Fthefearofthetruth.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F159331637573%2Ffic-darling-so-it-goes&m=1).

‘What crawled up his ass?’

He Tian cuffed the top of Guan Shan’s head. It earned him a sharp exhalation from where Guan Shan sat on the bench, scowling up at him, features pinched, eyes washed copper in the sun.

‘Jian Yi,’ He Tian said. ‘He’s missing.’

They watched Zhengxi stalk across the court in silence, smudges of purple storms under his eyes, shoulders rounded and taut. He swiped a basketball from the bag on the side of the court, threw it aimlessly against the chain-link fence. The sound rattled, ball smacking back down to asphalt, the whole fence trembling around the perimeter with the aftershock like soundwaves.

‘Like … _missing_?’

He Tian made a quiet ‘hm’ sound. He’d heard nothing from his brother. The SAR must have been immediate, no handler, a quick in-and-out job. Carefully planned, cleanly executed. No casualties except a pulled shoulder from the rebound of a gun. It was only a matter of time before someone went for Jian Yi. You couldn’t have a father like that and have your hands kept clean for long. You couldn’t have a father like that and not escape without some bullet holes.

He Tian let out a slow breath.

‘It’s not … Shit,’ Guan Shan muttered under his breath. ‘It’s not because of me, is it?’

He Tian drew his gaze back, steady and even. ‘Because of _you_?’

A muscle jumped in Guan Shan’s jaw. The back of his neck was damp with sweat, red hair dark. He smelled of salt and the cajuput balm on his lips. He Tian maintained the carefully cultivated distance between them.

‘She Li,’ said Guan Shan. ‘I got Jian Yi involved in that shit and now …’

He Tian, slow and careful, put a hand on Guan Shan’s shoulder. He felt wiry muscle tense up beneath him, could hear the snappish retort, the obscenity lingering unshed on Guan Shan’s tongue, and then it passed, and Guan’s shoulders loosened.

‘It’s not you,’ He Tian told him. ‘Jian Yi walked into all of that himself, anyway. This is … a family affair.’ His thumb brushed over damp cotton, felt muscle and sinew shifting beneath his touch. ‘I told you not to worry about things like that. I told you I’d look out for you.’

Guan Shan shrugged him off, made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. ‘Yeah, and it’s just fucking great having a debt like that hanging over my head.’

He Tian tilted his head. ‘Debt? I didn’t say this was transactional. I’m doing this for you, no strings attached.’

‘There’s always fucking strings.’

The bitterness in his voice was almost alarming. He Tian crouched down, hands on his thighs, breath disturbing the hair cut short over the shell of Guan Shan’s ear.

‘If you want, you can still come back to my place,’ he murmured. ‘Cook for me. Clean. And after I’ll press you up against the chrome fridge while you writhe and moan my name—’

 _‘Fuck you, pervert!_ ’

He Tian pulled away, straightening—grinning. Guan Shan was standing now, breathing hard and furious, fists clenching at his sides in a poor attempt to calm himself, a cat with its hackles raised. Eyes from the court were drawn to them, taking in the pair, and easily shifted away. He Tian’s business was his business. Guan Shan, they thought, could do with being put in his place by someone like that.

‘You should sit in the shade,’ said He Tian, reaching over the bench and brushing a finger beneath Guan Shan’s jaw. ‘That peach skin of yours will burn.’

Guan Shan smacked his hand away. ‘Like you fucking care.’

He Tian rolled his eyes. ‘Talk with some sense, would you? I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t care.’

‘Funny way of showing it,’ Guan Shan muttered.

His fingers twisted with the plastic cap of a water bottle, cracking it off, pocketing the plastic strip.

He Tian watched his throat work, a bead of water escaping the side of his mouth, trembling on the line of his jaw, a wet trail across his skin. Guan Shan’s eyes caught his, his hand tightening around the bottle. Slowly, he lowered it, swiped his arm across his mouth.

‘Don’t even fucking think about it.’

He Tian smirked. ‘I wasn’t.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Were you?’ said He Tian. ‘Thinking about it?’

‘Fuck. You.’

He Tian laughed. It was a hot day, the sky an unyielding stretch of blue, cloudless and humid, sticking to He Tian like a second skin. Bright light bathed Guan Shan gold, hair and lashes coppery, chasing out the shadows that settled when his features pulled together in distaste.

Guan Shan said, ‘Should we—should I—does Zhan Zhengxi want help?’

‘Help with what?’ asked He Tian.

‘Finding Jian Yi.’

‘And how do you plan on doing that?’

Guan Shan tugged his lower lip between his teeth, shrugged. ‘I dunno. But you’re good at shit like that. And I figure—after what they both did for me, I owe them.’

 _Owe._ He Tian held back a sigh at the word. He wondered if Guan Shan saw everything like that: transactional and reciprocal and indebted. For a brief, awful moment, He Tian wondered how far Guan Shan would go to pay back what he owed; how far He Tian could push him until his strings snapped.

‘There’s nothing you can do,’ He Tian said. ‘It’s—my brother will be handling it.’

Guan Shan’s eyes flashed. ‘Your _brother_?’

‘Remember that guy … you saw me talking with the other day.’

‘I remember you saying you’d sew my mouth shut.’

He Tian’s lips quirked in a half-smile. What he remembered was Guan Shan trembling under his hands, eyes shadowed and cast down, the way he mumbled, frightened, vulnerable and demure. The thrill at the sight had been sharp and piercing, but it soured in the pit of his stomach.

He Tian said, testily, ‘He’s involved with the Jian family.’

‘What do you mean _involved_?’

He Tian said, ‘I mean involved.’

Guan Shan narrowed his eyes, but He Tian was immovable and unwavering. The subject dropped.

He Tian sat on the bench, legs kicked out in front of him. ‘They didn’t help you because they wanted something back, you know. They did it because they just wanted to help you. Not everyone thinks ahead like that all the time—calculates their actions. People act just because they want to do something, or out of instinct. Not everyone’s like She Li.’

‘Or like you.’

He Tian snorted. He picked at a hangnail on his thumb, felt a brief flash of pain, stinging. Blood welled, and he sucked it away. ‘You give me too much credit.’

‘No,’ Guan Shan said. He sat cautiously on the bench, an animal still new to its surroundings, the distance between them sizeable. If He Tian reached out a hand, it would barely touch. Their movements were a game, a slow assessment of the other’s actions; He Tian was getting used to moving first. ‘I just know what you’re like.’

‘And do you _like_ what you know?’

Guan Shan didn’t seem surprised by the question. There was a flush on his cheeks, his skin reddening from the heat. He squinted out across the court like it was a mirage in the desert, trying to work out sense when his own mind betrayed him.

‘I—’

‘He Tian!’ someone called from the court. ‘You’re up!’

Silence shivered between them, a moment of possibility fractured. Guan Shan’s words remained swallowed and unsaid, a refusal to relinquish to He Tian’s white banner of peace, guards back in place.

He Tian sighed, pressed his hands to his knees as he rose. He needed a cigarette. ‘Maybe another time,’ he said. He took a half-step forward, and paused. ‘Hey,’ he said, almost soft. ‘Don’t worry about Jian Yi. Or She Li. Or any of that.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘True. But I meant what I said.’

Guan Shan frowned up at him. ‘Which part?’

He Tian looked at him. Again, ‘I meant what I said.’

* * *

The call came at 11pm, when Zhengxi had finished his homework and eaten dinner and showered and lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Starry glow stickers loomed over him, pinpricks of wan green light that blurred his vision. His head ached, stomach panged keenly. A summer storm rolled outside his windows, panes sobbing mournfully with the gale, air hot and charged.

A wave of nausea swept over him as lightning struck, a sky bright and blinding in the otherwise darkness, his room washed anaemic, crashing thunder a lone accompaniment in muted symphony.

 _Complicated family issues. We can’t interfere._ Zhengxi rolled onto his side, He Tian’s words swarming. When could he interfere? When was his opportunity to reach out a firm hand for Jian Yi to take? The only family Jian Yi had was his mother, and Jian Yi told Zhengxi everything. Used to tell him everything.

Jian Yi wasn’t ill—he knew that. He knew that as well as he knew that Jian Yi would have pestered him for pain killers and store-bought soup and dumplings and Zhengxi’s cool hands on his fevered, clammy skin.

Uneasiness churned in Zhengxi like the weather, rain a constant, brutal barrage.

He glanced at his phone, screen dark and silent and—

Glowing.

Ringing.

Jian Yi’s name on the screen.

‘Jian Yi?’ he said, fingers clutching at the phone, scrabbling for the green button. ‘Jian Yi? Are you okay? Jian Yi, I—’

‘I’m fine, Zhengxi,’ came Jian Yi’s voice, cutting him off. Zhengxi’s heart gave a single, painful thud. Relief washed in tremulous waves, whorling hotly in his chest. ‘It’s me. I’m fine. I’m sorry for just—disappearing on you like that.’

Zhengxi shook his head insistently. ‘What _happened_? Your mum said you were ill, but you never called and—’

‘It’s fine, it doesn’t matter.’ His words were hoarse and tinny, a throat holding back a cough, warbling and feeble. ‘Some stuff with my dad, I don’t know.’

‘Your dad?’ Zhengxi blinked into the pitch of his room. ‘But you said …’

‘I know. Apparently he’s around somewhere. This guy wanted to meet my dad and he thought he’d use me to get to him and—and there was a warehouse and he tied me up and—some guy came with a gun and—’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m at home. Mum said not to call anyone but she’s gone out to meet someone and—’

‘I’m coming. Just wait for me.’

‘Zhengxi, I’m _fine_ , you don’t need—’

‘I need to see you.’

* * *

His clothes were soaked by the time he got there, hot steam rising off him like quiet ghosts. Dirtied rainwater hemmed his tracksuit bottoms from drive-by cars, puddles reflecting city lights like festival lanterns hung in the sky, stretched out like a bruise. Night air hung heavy and close, and as his feet pounded the pavement, Zhengxi wondered if this was what it had been like for Jian Yi.

A hushed call from a hospital bed, a morphine-soaked dream, Jian Yi clutching the handrails, real, and teary, a bowed head of starspun hair. Zhengxi had felt his heartbeat in the embrace, rapid like a bird’s wings, slowing as he was held—as he held.

Zhengxi ran a hand through rain-drenched hair, shoes given a cursory wipe on the mat in the apartment block foyer. Elevators chimed, lifted him skywards, deposited him outside Jian Yi’s front door.

He knocked, waited for a few seconds, knocked again out of impatience, pulse jumping under his skin like lightning strikes.

The latch rattled, a chain unhooked. Jian Yi stood alive and whole and smiling, blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Zhengxi pulled him wordlessly inside, traded shoes for slippers, door kicked shut with his foot, sat Jian Yi down on the sofa with a bodily shove of his hands on Jian Yi’s shoulders. Jian Yi went, blinking, silent.

Zhengxi stood before him and took stock of him. Clothing (long-sleeved cotton top, old pyjama bottoms), eyes (tired, but bright, dimming), a smile (hesitant and shrinking), limbs (intact), soft hair (washed and tucked behind his ears), pale skin (red and flushed with cold). Zhengxi’s gaze landed on the bandage around an ankle. He watched Jian Yi roll his shoulders and wince.  

‘You’re hurt,’ he said. ‘I’ll kill them.’

‘You’re too late, Zhan Zhengxi,’ said Jian Yi, voice scratched and worn. ‘I think someone already did.’

He said it light, jocular, but it lacked brightness, spoiled by the fact that Zhengxi couldn’t tell the joke from a lie. Spoiled by the fact that they were talking about murder, and meant everything they said.

_You’re too late._

‘I should have been there for you. I should have walked you home.’

‘Zhengxi, don’t,’ Jian Yi breathed. He coughed into his elbow, low and wheezy. ‘There’s nothing you could’ve done. You would have been hurt. He wanted me, not you.’

‘Because of your dad,’ Zhengxi surmised. ‘Which makes this _his_ fault.’

Jian Yi leaned back against the sofa, feet on the coffee table, blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. ‘I can’t blame someone I don’t even know. I don’t know what he did to make that guy hate him so much. Mum refuses to talk about him. Says she barely remembers him. Which—is a lie.’ He swallowed. ‘I thought one day he’d come back and it would be good and Mum would be around more, but … I don’t think he’s a good guy, Xixi.’

‘You don’t need someone like that.’ The rest was clear: _You only need someone like me._

Jian Yi glanced at the door, sniffed. ‘She’ll be back soon.’

Firmly. ‘I’m not leaving you.’

‘Xixi,’ Jian Yi wheedled, but it was unconvincing, half-hearted at best. His pupils were set dark in pale irises, mouth upturned at the corner. He tugged at the hem of his top. ‘We’ve never had a sleepover _here_ before.’

Zhengxi rolled his eyes. ‘Idiot,’ he muttered. ‘It’s not a sleepover, it’s—’

‘A lock-in? A safety mechanism?’ Jian Yi reached out with his foot, sinking low on the sofa. He poked Zhengxi playfully on the kneecap. ‘There’s a guard in the foyer. Another down the hall. Mum might get someone to say in the apartment.’

‘I didn’t see anyone,’ Zhengxi said. He batted Jian Yi’s foot away, let his fingers hold his ankle for a second too long. ‘No one stopped me.’

‘I told them you were coming.’

Zhengxi nodded, took all of this in in stinging silence. He wondered what it must have looked like, sneaking into Jian Yi’s apartment while his mother was out. The same guy Jian Yi had been with when those men came for him, while Jian Yi’s breath stank of rice wine and Zhengxi had swollen marks on his neck. 

Zhengxi said, ‘You think all of this is necessary?’

Jian Yi shrugged. ‘It’s just a precaution. If my dad’s got more enemies like this, they might … He Cheng—one of my father’s men—he said they could launch an attack while I’m still vulnerable.’

Outside, lightning flashed, thunder pealed. Zhengxi caught Jian Yi’s wince; he felt anger sear white-hot inside of him, bubbling in his throat, stiffening the joints of his knuckles that remembered keenly how to fight.

‘Don’t look like that, Xixi,’ Jian Yi murmured. ‘I’m okay. More than okay.’ He rested a hand loosely over his mouth, lowered his eyes. ‘The whole time … all I could think about was you. I knew that if I could just see _you_ again, everything would be fine.’

Zhengxi swore quietly under his breath, eyes turned away. He ached to touch him. Hug him, wary of the bruising and the aching muscles, feel a pulse under a steady hand, be given some unavoidable, indisputable confirmation that despite the shadowed look in Jian Yi’s eyes and the pained half-smile and the bandage around his ankle—he was alive.

‘I wanted.’ Zhengxi swallowed. ‘I wanted to see you too.’

What bracketed their shared confession, their intimate penitence for two, were weeping windowpanes and a heavy, thunderous silence. A clock ticking in the hallway. Wind sharp and keen outside.

Jian Yi was looking at him like Zhengxi had given him a sun, cupped bright and luminous in his palms, tenderly, sweetly offered. Zhengxi’s heart threatened to break itself apart.

 _Don’t look at me like that_ , he wanted to say. _I failed you, and you got hurt, and all I’ve got now are useless words that have never been good as a shield._

But the smaller part of him, hateful and shadowed, begged for Jian Yi to look at him like that for an eternity, if it only took a word.

Zhengxi rubbed a palm on the back of his neck, catching the shadows under Jian Yi’s eyes, feeling them beneath his own. ‘You should go to sleep. I’ll take the sofa.’

‘So polite.’ And then tentative, cautious. ‘You can stay in my room. I don’t really want to … be alone.’

Zhengxi’s memory lingered on the last time he’d been here; the last time he’d been in Jian Yi’s room, dark and quiet, staccato breaths in the silence, a hot mouth on his pulse point, weight heavy on his chest.

‘I’ll sleep on the floor,’ Zhengxi pushed out.

‘Or … my bed’s big enough for two.’ Jian Yi’s gaze darted up, away. ‘It wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. _Promise_.’

Zhengxi breathed in. Breathed out. ‘Let me shower first,’ he said. ‘I’m soaked from the rain.’

Jian Yi pulled himself up from the sofa with a hurried nod—‘You can borrow my clothes.’—swayed slightly, eyes fluttering closed. Zhengxi steadied him with a grip on Jian Yi’s forearm.

He let Jian Yi step closer, standing his ground, Jian Yi crowding himself in. Zhengxi let his arms pull around shaking shoulders, a head resting on his collarbone, breath warm in the hollow of his throat. He held tight—maybe too tight.

He refused to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my [Tumblr](http://thefearofthetruth.tumblr.com/post/159312011514). Please kudos if you enjoyed!


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